


Deconstruction

by grimwoode



Series: Broken Down, Still Standing [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood and Gore, Gen, One Shot, Partial Mind Control, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 13:19:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9898895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimwoode/pseuds/grimwoode
Summary: On good days, Shiro can’t remember how he was imprisoned or why. On bad days, he wishes he could forget everything all over again. Only his new friend manages to make his containment bearable, until he finally reaches his limit at the hands of the Galra, and Shiro decides that he’ll escape from their prison or he’ll very well die trying.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Shiro-centric one-shot describing what I imagine he suffered during his time in prison before crashing back to Earth. Should also be noted that I wrote this before watching season 2… Good to know I wasn’t too far off lol

Darkness.

He was waking up to darkness and a feverish throbbing on his left side. Only after that did he register the fact that he was laying on what felt like a cold metal surface. He shifted slightly to feel for what was causing the throbbing but his fingers met something fibrous soaked in a warm, sticky substance. He hoped it would be some sort of ointment, but he suspected it was his blood.

_Where am I_ , thought Shiro, failing to voice it since it seemed his vocal chords weren’t responding to his subconscious will to talk. He didn’t think much of it. He was more worried by the wound he was seemingly bleeding from than his voice not working.

“I’m sorry,” said a guttural and awkward, but sincere sounding voice a little ways off. “This is my fault.”

Shiro didn’t recognize the voice and didn’t trust whoever was behind it. He started hearing a rhythmic clanking—metal on metal—and his brain registered that they were footsteps: whoever was supposedly sorry was walking towards him.

Weary of the stranger, Shiro rolled onto his good side to try to sit up and defend himself, but as soon as he became upright, he felt his head spinning. He recognized this light-headedness as a side-effect of massive blood loss… So he really is bleeding.

“What happened?” he croaked, surprised to hear his voice obeying him again, but he didn’t feel relieved by this.

“They put you in the ring again,” informed the voice. “Don’t try to get up.”

_Too late_ , thought Shiro. He heard something being set down in front of him and felt hands grabbing him, helping him up in a sitting position against a wall he didn’t know was there. The hands left his body and he heard some scrambling just barely two feet away from him before he heard a short fizz and a dim green light erupted into the room from what looked like a two inch long glow stick.

Shiro felt a surge of fear seeing the owner of the voice. It was a humanoid figure with a pale purple fur that resembled velvet covering a robust face, yellow iris-less eyes glanced over Shiro and his injuries while clawed hands tried to inch closer as though approaching a half-rabid dog. The name of this alien species flitted through Shiro’s memory: Galra. He didn’t know why he knew this or why he recognized this creature, having never seen one before, but a surge of adrenaline coursed through his veins at the sight of him. Masking his fear with anger, Shiro threw him an uppercut punch, causing a searing pain to rip through his injured side, only for the Galra to block him, holding Shiro’s fist in his own. He groaned as his muscles spasmed.

“I’m getting tired of going through this every time,” sighed the Galra.

“What?” said Shiro, gasping from the pain. “What’re you talking about?”

“I’m talking about half the times I come down here to bring you food and water,” he replied, shoving the bowl of colourless slime into Shiro’s hands before shuffling to his side and tend to his fresh wound. Only now did Shiro realize they’d essentially stuffed him in a metal box no bigger than six feet in any direction. He had been laying in a pool of his own blood.

He eyed the bowl that now sat in his hands.

“What is it?” he asked, suspicious of the enemy that appeared to be helping him.

“Just food,” replied the Galra, carefully cleaning around Shiro’s gashes left behind by some long and very sharp claws. He tried not to disturb the crusts of blood to not reopen the gashes.

Shiro wanted to retort that it didn’t look edible but he held his tongue. He held a spoonful of the stuff up and gave it a cautious sniff before giving in to his grumbling stomach and took a bite. At first it didn’t taste like anything, but there was an aftertaste that tasted faintly like salmon. That was blackened and grilled in a cajun spice with a hint of lemon.

“This is weird,” he murmured, his mouth watering at the memory of food.

“You said that last time, too.”

Shiro glanced at him. “You keep talking like we’ve met before.”

“That’s because we have.”

“Then who are you?”

“Doesn’t matter. You won’t remember me anyway,” the Galra murmured sadly.

“Why?” asked Shiro, starting to feel alarmed for different reasons.

“They wipe your memory fairly often. I don’t know why…”

“So… how long have I been a prisoner on this ship?” asked Shiro, wishing this alien would stop beating around the bush.

“I’m not sure… about three months in human terms?” he guessed.

“And what did _this_ to me?”

“This time? An unarmed rebel. There were five others, but that one gave you a hard time.”

“What are you talking about?!”

The Galra could sense Shiro’s frustration and gave him a sympathetic glance. “I told you, they put you in the fighting pit. This time, against six recently captured rebels. And ‘the Champion has emerged victorious once again,’” he quoted with a note of sarcasm. Shiro paled. He’d killed six people and couldn’t remember any of it. “I guess they wiped your memory because you started sobbing on the battlefield when it was over. Charming. Now finish eating. I don’t have long left and I won’t be able to come back for a few of your human days.”

“Is someone else going to feed me until then?” asked Shiro, refusing to believe his captors were so barbaric as to let him starve to death.

“Buddy, I’m the _only_ one that’s been feeding you since you came onboard this ship. And _secretly_ , so don’t mention it to anyone. Ever.”

“Wh-why?”

“You’re their guinea pig for studying the Earthlings. They want to know what your species is capable of to see what sort of potential you may have for our empire.” He paused while he finished adhering the last gash in Shiro’s side with what looked like a clear, sticky substance. “You better not get one of those ‘infections’ and die while I’m away. That would really piss me off,” he mumbled.

Shiro sat dumbfounded. “What does not feeding me even have to do with… ‘testing’ me?”

“Oh, they want to know how your kind lives. You know, like sustenance and basic necessities. No thanks to me, they think you’re able to live off seemingly nothing but air,” sighed the Galra. “You used to have a cell with an entire wall that consisted of a window into space, but now they think humans live off oxygen and light. They already know you’d suffocate without oxygen, so they decided to deprive you of light. Again, I’m sorry…”

The Galra was frowning as he explained this

“They’re going to think I’m invincible if you keep taking care of me like this,” remarked Shiro.

The Galra chuckled, but it was empty of humour. “You said that last time, too.”

It was Shiro’s turn to frown. He continued to mechanically spoon slime into his mouth, drowning it down past a lump in his throat with the water he was given. It was starting to taste like beef with a side of green beans now. “Thank you,” he said quietly, setting down the bowl and spoon.

The Galra smiled. “I never get tired of hearing that one,” he said, getting up and grabbing his things. “But hopefully you’ll remember this the next time I come.”

Shiro glanced up at him and murmured, “I hope so too.”

The Galra took the glow stick and stuffed it into a pocket in his armour, leaving them in complete darkness again.

“Don’t slip on my blood.”

“Worry about yourself,” frowned the Galra, his boots clanking against the flooring as he walked away. Shiro heard the door this time as it swung on well-oiled hinges onto more darkness and just as quickly shut with an audible clack from the locking mechanism.

He laid back down, his wound already numb from the salve, and he quickly fell asleep, dreaming of blue skies and starry nights from a window as large as a wall in a purple cell he couldn’t remember seeing before.

* * *

Shiro thought he’d lose his mind in the little box they left him in. Time lost all meaning. If he knew what going blind would be like, this was worse, he was sure of it.

He was eerily aware of every sound he made—right down to clearly hearing his own heartbeat drumming into his ears—since the room itself was completely soundproof. It had to be. The only other explanation was that his prison was somewhere completely desolate. Though it would explain why it would take a few days for the nice Galra to return.

But as far as he knew, he was still on board a spaceship… Wasn’t he?

If he was being tested, then they would keep him close by… Right?

He didn’t know. He didn’t even know which way was up anymore in his little black cube, or what it meant to feel hungry.

He actually got into the habit of rambling to himself just to stop the sound of blood rushing into his brain. When intrusive thoughts and memories came to mind, causing his heart rate to speed, he was especially prone to distracting himself with light punches against the metal walls until his knuckles were raw and bleeding, sometimes gathering his messes into a particularly nasty corner that became his “bathroom”, leaving the rest of his small cell slightly less vomit-inducing. He eventually became numb to the smell as well.

It felt like weeks had gone by before his benefactor came back with more food and water. Shiro could just make out the Galra’s form and without being sure if it was friend or foe, he jumped on him with his arms wrapped around him in a bear hug, causing the dull ache in his injury to reawaken. This was the most he’s moved in days. The Galra peeled back it’s bat-like ears and growled at the contact, prompting Shiro to let him go.

“That was unpleasant,” said the familiar voice, and Shiro was relieved to discover it was his new friend.

“Sorry,” he said, gasping at the fresh pain. “I’ve just been in here too long.”

“Which is unusual,” frowned the Galra, handing him his food and water before lighting a fresh glow stick. The sudden light stung Shiro’s eyes and he wasn’t looking forward to readjusting to the darkness afterwards, but he was extremely grateful for it nonetheless.

“Why do you think it’s unusual?” he asked, sitting down to chow down on the mysterious slime that always seemed to taste like his favourite foods.

“Because they like you, and they like to toy with you,” said the Galra. “So if they haven’t taken you out of here yet for more poking and prodding, then I think they’re planning something slightly more complex than just poking and prodding.”

Shiro thought this over while he ate, letting the horror of what he was hearing slip past his consciousness. He assumed he was being experimented on at some point. It was his only explanation for his frequent bouts of amnesia. “What do you think they’re planning?” he asked, wanting to mentally prepare himself for what might come in the future.

“How would I know?” shrugged the Galra. “I’m just a soldier.”

Shiro eyed him skeptically. “A solider that happens to have access to medical equipment?”

“I see you’ve forgotten that part, too,” sighed the Galra. “A soldier in charge of guarding the prisoners’ infirmary. It’s how I came across you in the first place.”

“You mean where they brought me after the fight with the Gladiator?”

“ _Oh_ , so you remember _that_.”

“Okay, you can cut the attitude,” murmured Shiro. “So… that just makes me wonder all the more how others seem to know nothing about humans, but you, an ordinary soldier, knows exactly how to take care of one,” he remarked suspiciously.

The Galra grinned a smile with more sharp teeth than Shiro initially imagined. “Finally, a question I didn’t answer before,” he teased. “I’ve been observing humans for years. Just curiosity, really. You’re just the first I got to observe up close. And… even though I know you’re not _invincible_ like my superiors seem to think, you’re still… fascinating.”

The way he said that made Shiro grimace. “Could you keep your observations to yourself? Please?”

“Sure. Now if you’re done, I’ll go back to my post,” he said, holding his hand out to take the bowl and water.

Shiro nodded and finished eating, but he hesitated at the water. “This smells… pungent,” he said.

“I don’t know what that means, but I’ve already drank some from the same canister before coming here,” informed the Galra.

Shiro wrinkled his nose but drank the water anyway, telling himself the Galra looked like he was fine and he needed to hydrate. It tasted more pungent than it smelled and he wished he’d drunk it before eating, so the slime could mask the awful taste.

“I’ll be back as soon as possible,” promised the Galra as he left, taking the light source with him and leaving Shiro in the dark once again.

The water sank down like a rock into his gut.

* * *

It only took an hour for Shiro’s body to start convulsing. He crawled awkwardly into one of his less occupied corners to vomit, emptying his stomach of any contents that might’ve been left. He then laid down on his good side, tucking his knees to his chest as he wailed, panting and shivering violently. His skin was coating itself in a layer of chilling sweat before he eventually passed out into a blackness darker than his new reality and making him wish he would finally die.

* * *

The next day, Shiro was still curled up on the floor when he heard the door swing open. He was surprised when he was yanked up to his feet and to have clunky metal rings attached to his wrists and ankles, forming a faint purple glow before locking in a strong magnetic field that tied his wrists together—handcuffs. This wasn’t the nice Galra visiting him.

He didn’t feel very confident that if he didn’t open his mouth to protest or ask question, he wouldn’t vomit instead, so he kept his mouth shut while they lead him through the darkened halls, eventually stopping in a large, high-ceilinged lab where they lifted him roughly onto a slab and tied the detached the rings, only to reattach them to the slab with his wrists and ankles spread eagle before them.

“He looks pale,” remarked a male voice he vaguely remembered.

“So perhaps our theory that he is fed through light is correct,” said a shrouded female to his other side. Her sharp voice was even more familiar to him, but her identity just barely tickled his memory.

“That’s stupid,” snarled the male. “I’ve already told you that someone is helping the Earthling. Whoever the traitor is has been entering his cell, and I’m sure he’s been bringing him sustenance. I was sent to find out who.”

Before Shiro could say anything, something sharp jammed into his side, reopening one of the gashes that just barely begun to heal as a shock wracked his body. He bit his tongue hard enough to cut into it, causing blood to pool into his mouth.

“Tell me who is helping you,” he ordered, removing the electric probe.

Shiro’s muscles locked up, so even if he knew what to tell his tormentor, he wasn’t able to. He whimpered helplessly, his teeth still sunk into his tongue and blood dripping down the corners of his mouth.

The alien clicked his tongue in annoyance and jammed the probe back into Shiro’s skin. The smell of burning flesh made his already upset stomach convulse violently with the rest of his internal organs. He started to heave up bile and choked on it, starting to drown in a combination of his own vomit, drool, and blood.

“Stop it, Sendak!” shouted the old hag, and the male pulled the probe away again.

Whatever was holding Shiro down on the slab slackened and he rolled off to the hard ground, banging up his knees and wrists in the process as he started coughing up on the floor. His vision was blurring, but he was vaguely aware the witch knelt by his side to ensure he didn’t die.

Witch? Yes, that’s right. They called her Witch Haggar. She called the other one Sendak… He recognized that name.

They’d done this to him before.

“You might’ve killed him,” chastised the witch, pulling Shiro back up on his feet with surprising strength. Shiro’s head spun at the sudden movement; he wouldn’t have been able to hold up his own weight anyway.

“Perhaps if you didn’t tamper with his mind, he’d actually remember who our traitor is,” snarled Sendak.

“He’s _my_ experiment, so I’ll do as I please with him,” snapped Haggar, her patience with him running short.

Shiro was trying so hard to keep himself conscience. He had a feeling this conversation was important to remember.

“Sedate him for now. Let’s see if his memory will come back to him,” said Sendak.

Shiro whimpered in protest, but he didn’t have the strength to stop them as cloaked figures approached. He felt a needle enter his neck, and before long, his world went black once again.

* * *

Darkness.

Shiro feared he went blind when he woke up, shivering and cold.

_Where am I_ , he thought dimly, squelching the panic that was starting to well up. He could feel a dull ache in his ribs, his heart was beating too quickly, and there was a faint taste of blood in his mouth.

What happened? He couldn’t remember anything after… after…

Why was his last vivid memory of graduating from the Garrison?

He rubbed at his aching side and was shocked to feel what felt like claw marks. A bear? That couldn’t be right… There aren’t any bears in the desert outside the Academy.

And why was he wearing a one-piece body suit? Were those shackles on his wrists and ankles?

An image of himself in one of those orange jumpsuits they always showed in prison movies flashed into Shiro’s mind.

Why was he in prison? And what did he do that was so horrible to merit getting locked up like this and completely repressing the memory of it? Shiro’s chest constricted with overwhelming guilt, yet he didn’t know what he was guilty of.

He only knew that it must have been justified.

He awkwardly crawled around his cell to form a mental picture of it. He stumbled on some stickiness and something that reminded him of what vomit must feel like. He grimaced thinking they didn’t even bother cleaning up the cell since its last tenant.

He wondered if the previous prisoner was executed and whether this cell was reserved for those on death row.

Did he kill someone?

Shiro couldn’t imagine himself killing anyone in cold blood. He couldn’t fathom why he’d be locked up in a cold, dark cell, injured and starved.

He sat in a cleaner corner of his cell with his knees tucked protectively to his chest while he gazed wide-eyed into seemingly endless darkness. It was so quiet, he could hear his own heart beating in his ears like a drum—the sound of it will drive him crazy, he realized. He ran his hand through his hair just to feel _something_ other than cold metal and realized he was covered in sweat. Yet another piece in the endless puzzle that is his imprisonment.

Through the pounding of his heart, Shiro barely heard a heavy door opening to his right. His heart went from its usual beating rhythm to outright drumming, not knowing what to expect and unable to see. With a small fizz, a green light burst into his field of visions, revealing who—or _what_ —had intruded on his solitude.

Shiro stood up in a casually defensive stance, waiting in what he could only call curious fear to see what the purple creature would do.

“What did they do to you?” asked the creature in a tone that oddly reminded Shiro of his mother and in a inexplicably familiar way.

But this wasn’t his mother’s voice. She was gentle, caring, unassuming and surprisingly wise, which is why Shiro learned to listen to her very quickly growing up, but this creature—he’d tried to remember where he heard this voice before and his stomach rumbled audibly, reminding him that no one’s come to feed him yet. Then he noticed the bowl and bottle in the creature’s hands and _finally_ something was slipping into place and he—

“You poisoned me,” gasped Shiro, his voice rattling in his throat from disuse. “I said the water smelled bad and you said it was fine, but it was poisoned!” Shiro’s newfound voice hitched with the accusation, realizing he can’t trust the one person he considered remotely trustworthy in this prison.

“No, you got it all wrong,” pleaded the alien. “I didn’t know the minerals in the water would be poisonous to you, I swear!”

“You poisoned me so that the others could—” He paused in his rambling, slowly remembering what happened, how the big purple alien had questioned him about a traitor, about—“your name is Ajax,” he murmured as more bits and pieces slipped into place to form memories he wished had stayed buried.

“Yes,” said the Galra, frowning. “I wish you had not remembered.”

“I guess almost _dying_ a few times jostled my memory,” Shiro replied sarcastically.

Ajax sighed. “No matter. I’ve brought you more food. You’ll need it for what’s to come.”

Shiro eyed the food wearily.

“I assure you that the food is of the same caliber as usual and that I’ve taken care to distill the water.”

Shiro frowned and nodded, sitting back down to eat. Besides, at this point, whether he lived or died, it didn’t really matter anymore.

Ajax seemed to be able to tell what Shiro was thinking and frowned as well. “I’ll get you out of here,” he quietly promised.

“They’re on to you,” reminded Shiro. The slime tasted like oatmeal today.

“And if they catch me, you’ll have no chance of escaping,” reminded Ajax.

“So I won’t starve to death.”

Ajax groaned. “No. They would starve you long enough to realize you are dying and then experiment with your diet.”

“Well,” said Shiro, laughing sadistically, “who wouldn’t want that!”

Ajax grimaced at his tone. “You’re unpleasant today.”

“I guess torture will do that,” replied Shiro curtly.

“You were not like this before,” murmured Ajax. “Before you started remembering…”

“Because they want to catch you. They want me to remember you,” said Shiro sternly. “You’re a wanted criminal now.” He let this sink in with his companion. “So. Was it worth it?”

“If you leave here alive, then it will all be worth it,” Ajax replied sincerely.

Shiro felt a pang of guilt in his chest. He expected Ajax to regret helping him, but while Shiro sat here, ready to give up, Ajax continued to try. It wasn’t fair…

“I should leave now,” said Ajax, gathering his things and getting up. “Good luck out there.”

“Wait, what?” The green glow disappeared in the folds of Ajax’s armour. “Wait, what’s going on—?”

Before his words could reach him, the door closed with a decisive click, leaving Shiro alone in the dark once again. Now confused and admittedly scared for what was to come, Shiro crawled back to his clean corner. A dark part of him hoped he would die before he could find out.

* * *

Shiro had barely managed to doze off when he was lifted up to his feet by two pairs of strong hands and dragged out of his cell. He yelped in surprise as he woke, but didn’t bother asking what they were doing or where they were taking him, no matter how much the questions pressed on his mind. He knew by now that they would not answer him.

“Hey, you can let go now!” he shouted, more out of annoyance than anything else.

Seeing him awake now, the two sentries locked the shackles of his wrists together and let him go, satisfied with leading him forward with the barrels of their blasters pressed to his back.

They walked out of the imprisonment area to the rest of the ship that was actually lit. Shiro took this opportunity to look around for any chance of escape, avoiding the other prisoners’ eyes that seemed filled with despair and pity as they watched him being lead down. Even if he knew where he was or the layout of this alien space craft, there were sentries everywhere and at every discernible entrance. With a sigh, he gave up on the idea of muscling his way out of here.

He had a distressing feeling of déjà vu the farther they walked. He knew he must have walked these halls before, just like this, but he couldn’t remember why or where it lead. His memories remained stubbornly and frustratingly stuck on the matter.

He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what comes next and that that was probably why Ajax wouldn’t tell him what was coming: it gave him less time to dwell on it.

They eventually walked a narrower path up to a large door. His guards unlocked his shackles and opened the door simultaneously before just as quickly pushing him through and locking it behind him again. Shiro almost tripped over his own feet from the shove, but he got his footing back and looked around quickly.

And he realized with painful clarity that he was back in the arena.

And on the other side stood a reptilian humanoid wearing the same prisoner garb that looked pissed off enough for both of them.

They didn’t give him a sword this time.

How the hell did they expect him to measure up against something that naturally grew inch-long claws and fangs?

_Shit, shit, shit_ , this isn’t fair!

But before his panic could really set in, his opponent gave out a bellowing roar that rocked Shiro’s eardrums and charged towards him with a speed and agility that surprised him given his bulk.

Shiro’s instincts kicked in and he ran. There was nothing else he could do. The sandy terrain made it difficult, but he took comfort in knowing his opponent’s hooked feet would sink in more and maybe he’ll tire out faster from it, he hoped.

_Dear god_ , prayed Shiro, _let him tire out before me_.

He ran around one of the pillars surrounding the arena, hoping the momentum would throw off his attacker, but he remained hot on his heels—and getting closer.

“Your meat looks so tender,” taunted the reptilian in a gravelly voice that sounded like he had swallowed a pound of grainy sandpaper.

It was so fucking irritating.

“Let me eat you, puny creature,” it cackled in a hunger-induced delirium. Now Shiro was all the more grateful for Ajax’s intervening, if it meant he didn’t sink to _that_ level of insanity.

For now he continued to run between the pillars encircling the arena, heart pounding into his throat and hoping his attacker would fall sooner than later. Shiro’s own endurance wasn’t exactly top-notch and in a battle where it’s survival of the fittest, he clearly wasn’t the fittest of the two either.

But from the looks of it, his opponent wasn’t the brightest because he continued to run after him in a straight line rather than try to intercept him.

_Good_ , thought Shiro. This was something he could use to his advantage. He looked up at the pillars: slick metal—he couldn’t climb them.

The Galra covered the usually hard-packed terrain ground in sand, he guessed as their way of “evening out the playing field” and Shiro would’ve barked with sarcastic laughter if he wasn’t running for his life right now.

But his legs were starting to give in, no longer used to running long distances like when he was fresh out of the Garrison, much less at a consistent sprint, and if it weren’t for the constant surges of adrenaline secreting into his bloodstream, he would’ve collapsed by now—and _fuck this stupid sand_ —he yelped as he slipped, falling forward and rolling his landing to get away from his attacker. The alien lunged at Shiro, claws and fangs ready to rip into his flesh.

Before Shiro could roll back onto his feet, his attacker was on top of him, pinning him with clawed hands reaching for his throat and he desperately gripped the alien’s wrist joints to hold them at bay, barely inches from his skin while his knees dug into his torso to keep him from eating him alive.

They were locked, each pushing with all their strength and _God_ this thing was strong, made worse by sharp scales digging into Shiro’s skin, lacerating his palms.

Shiro had to get out from under him somehow. His opponent was too heavy and he would overpower him soon if he doesn’t _move_. Struggling, Shiro worked to hook his heels into the bigger reptile’s hip bones to push him off, shifting inch by inch and curling in and _seriously wishing_ he worked more on his flexibility during training.

With every inch he shifts inwards, his opponent loomed closer, getting more and more desperate for his food and— _finally_ , he got it, letting a feral groan rip from his throat as he pushed his opponent off with whatever remaining strength he had left in his legs.

Surprised by the resistance, the alien let him go and Shiro jumped at the opportunity, slipping behind him and hooking his arm around his opponent’s throat and yanking him to his chest, _squeezing_ his windpipe and what he hoped was his jugular, hoping their physiologies were similar enough for this to actually work.

A disturbing gurgling noise escaped his opponent’s throat but Shiro didn’t dare relinquish his hold, only tightening even more by flexing his biceps and flexors and locking his left hand around his wrist to make sure the hold was tight in the most secure stranglehold he could manage. Even when his opponent started clawing at his arm, ripping his flesh into ribbons and flying chunks, his blood drenching his torso and the sand at their feet in a nauseating sludge—even when Shiro’s hearing dulled and his vision blurred, he held on for dear life, strangling his opponent as hard as he could and ignoring the distressing choked sounds from his new victim until he finally went lax in his grip.

Only then did Shiro feel just how _numb_ his body had become, burning pain all across his mangled right arm aside. The copper stench of his own blood filled his nostrils and only now did he realize the curtain of blood coating his face from a gash the reptilian clawed into him in their struggle. He was faintly beginning to register the roar of a crowd, but it felt distant, miles away, but he knew they were encircling him, at a safe distance and a safe height. They could probably smell his blood too. He felt so empty, too weak…

He only felt horror for what he’d done, unable to take his eyes off the corpse at his feet, almost afraid he’d jump up for them to start all over again, and Shiro knew he wouldn’t survive another bout.

Right now, he just wanted to lay down, sleep, and forget all this even happened. As it is, his consciousness was rapidly slipping with every ounce of blood he lost, but he felt like he needed to stay awake; he needed to know what comes next, what they’ve been doing to him, and are continuing to do to him. He needed to remember this time.

And he hoped he wouldn’t have to wait long. He noticed cloaked figures approaching him on the arena floor to pick him up, carrying him out on a stretcher. Lying down was making it much harder for him to stay conscious.

He wanted to ask them what was going on but all that came out was a pained squeal. He didn’t have the energy to put up much of a fight. That’s why he still didn’t resist when he noticed they were taking him to the druids’ lab, his senses nothing more than a mosaic of sound, light, and colour.

He also didn’t put up a fight this time when they strapped him down to a thick metal table, only this time with his destroyed arm extended outwards on a separate table and a heavy strap across his chest. He was effectively pinned down.

He briefly wondered why they needed to strap him down like this just to mend his arm.

“Keep him awake,” commanded a female voice off to the side, and soon after, he felt a warm cloth across his face, wiping off the crusted blood from the wide gash he’d sustained in the fight before applying the same sticky substance Ajax had used on his ribs before to seal the wound and help it heal quickly.

“The less you bleed now, the better,” said the same female voice.

_No shit_ , Shiro idly thought, but the gash on his face was just an annoying paper cut compared to what that reptilian did to his arm. He let his head lull to the left, unable to look at the mangled flesh and bone anymore. He stopped slipping in and out of consciousness by now and was ready to sleep through whatever tedious medical process they would try, knowing that on Earth, any doctor wouldn’t bother and would just tell him his arm was damaged beyond repair.

Shiro snapped back into full consciousness: the doctors back home would’ve amputated it.

Just as the thought was taking shape, he heard the whir of a circular saw blade.

“Wait!” he shouted, panic overriding everything else. “Wait! No!”

He was ignored and he started pulling against his restraints to get away from the shining blade, but a strong hand held down his bicep at a point where he still had some sensation, although tingly from blood loss. They must know that they can’t just _cut off_ limbs like this, right?

He watched in horror as the blade sunk into his skin and screamed.

Until the druid pulled the blade back up again, but Shiro was already gasping in panicked pain.

“Gag him,” instructed Haggar, much closer than she was before. “As much as I enjoy it, he’ll give me a headache if he screams through the procedure.”

Shiro’s heart was pounding wildly with fresh adrenaline, his breaths ragged and shallow as a bit was pulled over his head and his jaws forced open to wedge the metal piece covered in a cloth in between his molars, which he quickly bit down on, gritting against the pain.

He wasn’t spared another moment before they continued to saw through his injured arm.

Now Shiro’s screams were muffled somewhat, but they still reverberated through the high-ceilinged room. His body shook and cried and whimpered as he cursed this fucking civilization of barbaric monsters breeding worse monsters for an endlessly blood-thirsty empire.

He became numb to the pain, gasping for breath between screams with his body coated in a sheen of sweat to try to temper his fevered mind and severed limb.

But then they hit bone and he felt it rattle up into his shoulder and into his chest, causing him to shudder with renewed agony, his voice lost from how dry his throat had become. His mind continued to scream for mercy, for death, or both; a definitive end to this torture, to make all his problems disappear like a wisp of white smoke. But the blade cutting through him was a constant reminder that his life was not ending and that they did not intend to let him die.

When the blade passed bone is when Shiro _finally_ slipped back into darkness, and for the first time since arriving on board this wretched ship, he welcomed it.

* * *

The next time Shiro awoke, he was confused, aching, and hungry. There was a dim purple light filtering through a small, narrow window against one wall in his cell, and it wasn’t exactly easy on the eyes, so he closed them again. From where he lay, he carefully started to feel around the sore spots. Some just ached like sore muscles, although he couldn’t remember how he might have exerted himself in this small cell, but some were clearly bruises.

And something felt… off.

He realized he had somehow lost feeling in most of his right arm and his upper arm up to his shoulder was _burning_.

He cracked his eyes open in his alarm to glance at what he quickly realized was a metal limb attached to his arm. In his shock, he tested his natural fingers to find the metal ones obeying, albeit sluggishly.

He sat up abruptly—big mistake—and felt his head pounding with a sudden rush of blood. Using his left hand, Shiro felt along the metal surface of the foreign one, his alarm growing the farther up his fingers travelled, waiting for _some_ sensation to come to his right arm and only finding some where metal met flesh, where his skin burned. He winced in pain when he touched the tender spot, realizing his stump of a right arm must be inflamed, or worse, infected.

Shiro wanted the thing off. He gripped the metal arm just above the elbow and without thinking too much about it, carefully started to yank, causing a sharper, more searing pain like he had just tried to yank his own bone out of his shoulder. He doubled over, groaning loudly as he grit his teeth against the agony—brief flashes of his bone being sawed through and blood pooling under a cold metal table—and waited for it to ease up.

He was _furious_ to find this thing so firmly attached to him. It was impractical, clumsy, _heavy_ , and he didn’t trust the technology behind it one bit. He tried to stand so he could move around a little, feeling restless in his fury, but his legs felt like noodles and he quickly fell back down on his ass with a frustrated groan. He slammed his left fist into the wall—barely hard enough to hurt himself but hard enough to feel _something_. He didn’t dare do the same with his right hand, not with an unfamiliar limb and a burning pain up to his shoulder.

Left with nothing else to do, Shiro fiddled with his new metal prosthetic, flexing, testing its limits and its strength, trying to get used to it not only _being_ there, but also how it worked. Over time, he was relieved to see it functioned mostly like a natural arm, albeit heavy and about as dexterous as his less used left hand. This was fine with him because he fully intended to become left-handed if the alternative was a _Galra_ prosthetic he couldn’t remove.

For hours, all he did was flex his sore muscles, flex his joints, absently tapping an unfeeling metal index against the metal flooring to the sound of the sentries footsteps outside his cell. When he felt his breathing hitch into hyperventilation, he would stop everything to concentrate on his breathing.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Repeat.

He felt like he was forgetting something important but no matter how hard he thought about  it—or tried _not_ to think about it—it never came to him.

At some point, a small opening appeared at the bottom of his cell door to let in a tray of some slimy substance and a small pouch of water.

_Finally_ , he thought. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to live on. He even got used to the vague taste of chalky bread the slime left at the back of his throat.

Hours turned into days and into weeks… or did they? He didn’t know. There was no way to tell between the constant violet light outside his cell, the sentries patrolling at all hours, and his severely messed up sleep schedule. There was a constant nagging sense that he was forgetting something and the longer it was taking him to remember it, the more it irked him.

He knew he was occasionally being taken out of his cell, but he never knew when or for how long. All he knew is that he occasionally remembered flashes of bright lights, masked figures, needles, and white-hot _rage_ , and every time these memories surfaced, he tampered them down before the panic attacks could set in.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

He wished he knew what they were doing to him when they sedated him. He wished he knew why they went through all this trouble to deconstruct his body and mind, breaking down his humanity. Did they even know they were doing it? But at least they haven’t sent him back into the arena to kill. That was something he wasn’t sure he could live with after the Gladiator.

His life had become monotonous, listless and restless all at once, and he was sure he would go mad from it.

But that didn’t mean he was glad for the occasional visits from Galra in his cell. They always resulted in more bouts of amnesia, but at least they always cleaned up his messes this time while he was out and unconscious. He became weary when an unfamiliar Galra entered his cell one day. He wasn’t dressed like one of the sentries that fed him or one of the druids that occasionally forced him into their Frankenstein-esque laboratory, but he was dressed like one of the soldiers around the ship. One of the higher ranking ones it looked like, but he couldn’t be sure. In any case, Shiro stood defensively when the stranger entered and closed the door behind him, to Shiro’s surprise.

“I’m sorry, it’s been so long,” said the soldier in a tone Shiro might’ve called “sympathetic” if it had come from anything but a Galra. “It was not easy finding time to come, but I have made all the necessary preparations for your escape.”

“Who are you?” asked Shiro in shocked disbelief, which slowly twisted into angry. “What sort of trick is this?”

“Trick?” replied Ajax, momentarily confused before sighing in understanding. “I have no time for this today, Takashi,” he said severely. “I have information to give you before my commander begins to wonder where I have gone.”

Shiro gawked. “How the _hell_ do you know—” He paused as memories flitted in and out. “I should know yours too,” he slowly realized.

“You did, but I am glad you have forgotten. Listen now,” he instructed. “You have no doubt noticed by now that most of the soldiers on board this ship are sentry droids, and their routines follow a programmed pattern. You only need to memorize these patterns that I’ve written on this sheet of paper.” He handed Shiro a small slip that contained a list of numbers and time frames. “Memorize these now. You will be able to forge a path out of here to one of our fighter crafts.” He pulled out a large, folded paper with what looked vaguely like schematics. “Here,” he pointed to a red X on the map that marked what looked like could be a hangar. “If you are discreet enough, you will be able to escape without drawing attention to yourself and getting yourself shot at and killed.”

Shiro took a moment to process all this sudden information, memorizing the awkward layout of the map before something occurred to him. “How am I supposed to even get out of my cell?” he asked, since he was definitely _locked_ in here.

The Galra gave him a blank look. “They have not told you how to operate your prosthetic?”

“Yeah, about that,” murmured Shiro, seeing this as an opportunity to finally get some answers. “What happened? All I remember is that one moment, I’m in a dark, soundproof cell, and the next, I wake up in _this_ one with _this_ thing attached to me while my real one is just _mysteriously_ missing,” he said with heavy sarcasm, waving the metal limb about for emphasis.

Ajax sighed to himself. “You passed what the druids are calling your ‘Final Trial’, whatever that means,” he mumbled. “You were seriously injured in the arena, so they replaced your broken arm with a better one.”

“Better?” asked Shiro, his brows quirking up in a silent dare.

“It is weaponized. I do not know the details. I only know that you have become Haggar’s pet project and she likes turning tormented kitten into weapons,” replied Ajax with an equal amount of sarcasm and what felt like barely contained disdain for the witch.

“Okay, but what does that have to do with my escape?” asked Shiro, deciding that changing the subject back was probably a good idea.

“Right. You would be able to pry the door open with it.”

“Really?” asked Shiro with a mixture of surprise and awe.

“Really. But do not spoil the surprise by trying it out until you are ready to escape,” counselled Ajax. “I am sure they are counting on your lack of memory retention to keep you locked up in here with the least problems.”

Silence fell between the two.

“You haven’t come to see me in a long time,” remarked Shiro, admittedly worried over the fact.

“They have been watching me carefully,” said Ajax with a sad sigh. “It has been difficult finding the time to give you all the information you need to leave this place and I am afraid this must be the last time we see each other. Betraying Zarkon carries a death sentence, and it is far from being a noble death.”

Shiro nodded in understanding. He felt a strange numbness at the thought of this Galra stranger risking his life for him like this. It felt something like guilt.

“If you fail to escape, I will be very angry,” warned Ajax.

Shiro had to laugh at that. “Trust me. I have every intention of getting out of here first chance I get. My people need to be warned about the Galra Empire,” he said seriously.

Ajax nodded in agreement. It was his own opinion that Zarkon needed to learn a difficult lesson. He only wished he could live long enough to witness it…

“I must get going,” he said suddenly, taking the papers to burn and giving Shiro a curt nod in farewell before leaving his cell and locking it back up before Shiro could utter a “goodbye”.

* * *

The rest was entirely up to Shiro now. He couldn’t let Ajax’s efforts go to waste, and he wasn’t about to let the opportunity to use their own weapon against them go to waste, either. As much as he hated the artificial limb, he could at least do that.

It unnerved him how easily he got used to its constant whirring. It used to grate his nerves, waking him up at all hours and making him want to smash the thing to piece, but now he doesn’t notice it.

He was at least thankful they never sent him back to fight. He can almost deal with being experimented on or sedated regularly if it meant he didn’t have to kill anymore.

He kept what Ajax said in mind and started actively counting the sentries footsteps now. It gave him something to do, something to focus on between the “sessions” in the lab and the amnesia that came with it. He still didn’t know what they were doing to him in there but he felt a greater sense of urgency to escape every time. He just needed to time the sentries’ patterns right.

He was alarmed one day when he got a surprise visit from one of the commanders: Sendak.

“It’s time for your first lesson, Champion,” he said with an air of authority.

As he said this, sentries walked in to bind Shiro and lead him out of his cell. The path they were taking was slowly becoming familiar to him, his memories painted red, black, and white with blood, pain, and rage.

“No, wait! You can’t take me there!” he protested.

“Don’t be stupid,” said Sendak, grabbing a fistful of his tunic to forcefully drag him the rest of the way to the heavy metal doors that opened onto the arena floor. “And don’t forget this is a battle to the death,” he kindly reminded before unceremoniously tossing Shiro through the open doors and closing them again.

Shiro quickly got up and searched, tampering down his quick spurts of panic. He can do this, he’s done it before, he can survive this, he kept telling himself.

But nothing prepared him for what he saw, _who_ he saw standing across from him in the ring. Ajax looked so defeated in his new prisoner garb; it was a look that didn’t suit him at all, thought Shiro.

He must have looked confused because Ajax shrugged at him and said, “they knew all along,” with his typical saddened sighs.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” mumbled Shiro, realizing that Ajax was his only opponent in this round. That’s why Sendak so pointedly “reminded” him what to do.

“Takashi—”

“Is this some sick joke?” he asked, anger flaring.

“No, it appears rather serious from my perspective.”

Shiro barked a laugh, although clearly from stress rather than humour. “They don’t seriously think I’d try to kill you, do they?” he asked incredulously, throwing his hands up in a taunt at the invisible crowd, audibly grumbling from the lack of action from their prisoners.

“You hardly have a choice,” reminded Ajax, lifting the sword he was holding and shifting into a fighting stance. “Because my only way out of this mess is by killing you,” he groaned, lunging towards Shiro.

Without his armour weighing him down, Ajax was much faster, and Shiro had to scramble to get away. They left him weaponless again and gave Ajax a sword. Was he seriously expected to believe they wanted to keep him alive?

“What are you doing?” exclaimed Shiro, shocked that his only ally would attack him like this, would give in to them so easily after everything he’s done to defy them.

“If I win this battle, they let me go free,” explained Ajax as he swung his sword, prompting Shiro to side-step out of the blade’s path.

“I thought you said betraying Zarkon was a death sentence!”

“They decided to make an exception in this situation.” Another lunge—side-step—slash—“Consider this another ‘trial’,” he said with a note of derision.

“Why?!”

“Either I die a free Galra or die the way I should have lived: a warrior.”

He slashed particularly hard, his sword landing and cracking the hard-packed ground where Shiro stood just seconds ago.

At the back of his mind, something told Shiro it wasn’t that simple. If this was another trial, then either he was successful and only Ajax dies, or he fails and Ajax has his promised freedom by being executed. Nothing freer than death when the alternative is a Galra prison.

How does Ajax not know this? A part of Shiro felt he was holding back, almost trying to lose to Shiro and he wondered how he could possibly be more the important of the two.

But something else whispered at the back of Shiro’s mind, disorienting in its urgency so Shiro couldn’t help lending an ear.

Slash—side-step—chop— _kill_ , it whispered, searing rage burning at the back of his eyes and a gentle hum in his ears, screaming for blood and conquest.

_Kill_ , it commanded more forcefully, causing Shiro to shudder with heated desire, wanting to rip his enemy to pieces, limb from limb, and savour the blood draining from his—

“ _No!_ ” screamed Shiro, trying to put a stop to the disturbingly tempting voice in his head.

Ajax stopped with a stunned look on his face, his big ears peeled back the same way Shiro’s pet labrador Sirius used to do when he was getting scolded. Shiro was grateful for the pause in his attacks, giving him a chance to sort through these foreign thoughts.

Only now did he realize he was clutching at the forearm of his metal limb, now glowing a violet-white with his fingers twisted into claws from the tension he was exerting to hold it back from… from what?

_Kill_ , continued the voice, calmer with an almost soothing lull, pulling and coaxing Shiro into giving in, softly enveloping his conscious mind with malicious intent.

Shiro knew he couldn’t trust it, but he _wanted to_.

_He betrayed you_ , cooed his mind. _He wants to hurt you again, just like all the others of his kind. He needs to pay._

“No,” Shiro said again, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger.

He felt heat from his weaponized hand travel up to the tender skin of his stump, demanding release, he and _didn’t know how_.

_If you want this to end, you must kill_ , insisted the voice.

Shiro was just so _tired_ of all this, these mind games, this pain; it was all so infuriating!

“This is all just a joke, isn’t it,” he snarled and watched as Ajax recoiled from him at the sight of his glowing prosthetic and eyes suddenly glowing a feral yellow. “You only pretended to give a shit.” Shiro’s consciousness started to waver, giving in to whatever was invading his mind and letting himself phase in and out of darkness—he was just so _tired_! “You did poison me and you were probably setting me up in a trap, too, huh.”

“No, Takashi,” stammered Ajax, seriously fearing for his life as he faced a now unknown threat. “I truly wanted to help you!”

“Shut up!” screamed Shiro, although whether it was meant for Ajax or the voice tormenting his mind, he couldn’t tell. All he knew is that he became all motion, no thought.

He was vaguely aware of an arc of white light, a purple blur as Ajax stumbled away, his sword coming down over Shiro’s metal arm and _melting_ on contact, and a jab. The smell of searing flesh brought Shiro to his sense, his arm plunged up to his elbow into his friend’s chest. His blood was sizzling against the glowing metal before eventually fizzling out and leaving his limb stuck into Ajax’s crumpling, spasming body. His arm was sealed into the hole it created.

As the Galra fell to his knees, he pulled Shiro down with him. Trying to hold back his panic, Shiro didn’t remove his arm, knowing Ajax would bleed to death if he did. Even though ensuring both their survival was hopeless, Shiro still held on—he still had hope.

Ajax watched him in disbelief. He held Shiro’s arm before ripping it out of himself with a loud squelch, screaming as cauterized, bloody flesh was ripped out of him. Finally free, he fell to his side.

Shiro knelt beside him in a daze, horror painted plainly on his face from what he’d done and the macabre sight of it all. His chest started heaving and his breaths were coming shorter and faster in a familiar sign of overriding panic, barely aware that he was calling Ajax’s name under his breath and whispering “sorry”’s and “it wasn’t my fault” to his dead friend, his _only_ friend..

He tried to pick himself back up, to maintain his composure in front of the enemy while this storm of emotions ravaged him. He was ushered out of the arena and led out to the lab where they sat him down, shackled as they started cleaning his prosthetic of gore, fresh and burnt alike. Shiro was too numbed to protest.

“You did well, Champion,” said the voice, no longer disembodied but hovering in his peripheral vision. His skin crawled with her proximity. “You will make a valuable asset.”

“What happened?” he gasped. “How do I control it?” He hoped he would be able to control it still once he escaped. He hoped it wasn’t just the voice in his head.

“Your thoughts control it,” explained Haggar, gliding into his line of sight. “Intent is all you need to make it do as you wish.”

“I didn’t intend to kill him!” snapped Shiro.

“But you did,” she said, her lips quirking into a jagged grin. “It is the only way your weapon would obey.”

Shiro bit his tongue. He didn’t want to hear anymore of her manipulative crap. He knows he didn’t imagine the bloodthirsty voice in his head and he knows it’s foreign to him… No matter how good it felt to satisfy it.

“Sleep now, Champion,” said Haggar, inserting a needle in him, despite his half-hearted struggled. “You have earned the rest.”

Shiro wasn’t about to dignify that with an answer. So far as he was concerned now, it was only a matter of time until he put them very far behind him, and with this solid conviction in mind, the sedative slowly took effect.

* * *

When Shiro woke up, it was to a pounding headache that vaguely reminded him of his first—and last—hangover. Disoriented, he looked around to try to find out where he was. He wasn’t surprised to find his cell exactly as he left it, save for the haunting feeling that something was missing.

Determined to escape, he distracted his distraught mind with the sounds outside his cell, tapping metal fingers against metal with every metal, mechanical footstep the sentries took. Before long, he noticed a pattern and concentrated on memorizing its rhythm, thinking it could prove useful in his escape…

As the hours turned into days, Shiro tried hard not to think about the blanks in his memory, both because of their heavy presence and because they always caused him panic attacks, and he didn’t know why.  He was determined to regain his memories somehow, be he knew it would be a long and painful process.

It especially alarmed him when he came back to his senses once, only to find he’d been scratching at the tender skin joining flesh and metal of his right arm and realized he was subconsciously, slowly trying to claw through to pry the alien thing off. It was the pain that brought him to his senses rather than the thick stench of blood or pool of it at his side.

He couldn’t let himself lose control like that ever again.

He needed to go home and warn his people. He would never forgive himself if someone else were to go through all the same trials he did when he could have helped prevent it.

They needed to find the weapon the Galra called “Voltron”. He heard whispers about it here and there, his memories flitting in and out.

By now, he figured he had the pattern right. He just needed to fit his timing, and the sooner the better; he definitely didn’t want to risk forgetting it again in another bout of amnesia and have to start all over again.

He desperately needed to get out before they conducted anymore experiments on him.

All he needed to do was bide his time, wait for an opening to force the door apart, and slip right out. He didn’t know where to, but he was sure he could figure it out so long as he can slip by the sentries undetected. He needed to at least try.

When the time finally came, Shiro was just about giddy with a chemical mixture of adrenaline and panic. He waited just the right enough number of footsteps for the sentry to have marched around the corner before wedging his metal fingers where the door met wall. He took a deep, steadying breath and pried it open, feeling gears whir loudly and muscles pulling taut as he opened it just wide enough to slip through and let it close behind him with a clang loud enough to make him jump in fear he would get caught so soon.

From there, he didn’t waste a minute. He only had until the next feeding time or experiment, never mind a drone or sentry, before they would notice his escape. He had to be out of the ship by then.

He weaved his way down the halls, hiding and waiting whenever a sentry happened to be walking past. He couldn’t know for sure where he was going, but he was determined not to go down any halls he physically remembered.

Because of how the halls wound around each other, Shiro couldn’t help but feel he was going around in circles. His frustration grew the longer it was taking him to find pods. He was sure he was going the right way, even if he didn’t know how he knew.

He let out a relieved breath when he finally found the hangar. There were only a handful of sentries around but Shiro knew he would find a way to sneak around them just like he’d been doing since escaping his cell.

He had just managed to slide behind one of the pods to hide when an alarm started blaring, red lights drenching everything in a bloodied haze. Shiro stood still in anticipation, tampering his rising panic and waiting, but he was soon relieved to see the sentries running towards the hangar door.

They must have discovered he was missing from his cell.

He wasn’t about to waste this opportunity. Jumping into action, he let himself into the pod he was hiding behind, sliding into the pilot’s seat. Once inside with the door closed, he started taking deep, meditating breaths. This was nothing like the ship he piloted for the Garrison, but all spaceships have the same basic engineering.

Right?

“You can do this,” he whispered to himself, alarms faintly buzzing through the cockpit from the hangar. He wouldn’t be able to figure it all out if he was nervous and panicking.

_To hell with it_ , he thought to himself. Whatever happened here from an incautious move was nothing compared to what would happen to him if the Galra caught him, and he was already running out of precious time. It was do or die.

So he reached for the two sticks on either side of the chair. The entire cabin immediately lit up with a faint purple glow as the ship lurched forward, immediately reacting to his Galra arm. Shiro stilled his beating heart, concentrating on evening out the ship and testing the gears this way and that, exactly as he would with any new ship on Earth. He was elated when he got the hang of the controls.

“This is good, I can do this,” he breathed more confidently.

He gripped the gear and gave it a twist to gain his bearings, only to have lasers blast from the guns under him he failed to see initially, causing him to jump. The ships in front of him blew up into flames and smoke, debris clanging across the floor.

“Okay, so that does _that_ ,” he exclaimed, steering more carefully towards the hangar door.

Finding no other way to open the door, Shiro decided to try blasting through, re-activating the newly discovered ion blasters and blowing up its control, causing the doors to swoosh up and everything in the room to get sucked out into space.

_Finally_ feeling like he was in his element, bubbling with exhilaration, Shiro navigated out of the debris and blasted off as far as the little pod would allow and didn’t look back. He didn’t hear blaster fire, nor did he feel his ship getting shot at, so after a while, he took this to mean they weren’t chasing him.

When he could no longer see the Galra ships, he finally allowed himself to relax. Shiro took a good, hard look around. Nothing was recognizable beyond the gear shifts he was holding. Glancing outside the cockpit, he didn’t recognize a single constellation, not even a little star, and whatever hope he gained quickly deflated.

But there was no turning back.

He continued to navigate the ship forward, away from his captors. He would go as far as it took to get him home.

He went through far too much to lose hope now.

[THE END]

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and criticism are always appreciated! I love hearing what people think of my writing. And considering how season 2 ended, I feel extra bad having written this, but it was written before I watched it. I just took forever to put it out in the open!
> 
> That being said, after season 2, I really wanted to make everything okay for our poor baby so I’m mulling over a part 2 with some fluff and lots and lots of caring and healing.


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